Seizing the Golden Bough - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Madam and Master were fighting again.
Over the woman at the other residence, Madam had been making an unrelenting scene for a month.
At first, I could still hear Master explaining in a low voice, and Madam tearfully arguing back.
Later, only her sobbing accusations remained.
Master seemed tired of it. He no longer answered.
Only Madam’s weeping came from the room, carried far away on the night wind.
Nanny Wang had long since sent the maids on night duty away from the corridor. I alone remained.
The truth was, everyone in the household knew Master kept a mistress elsewhere, from the stewards down to the servants who did the rough work.
Everyone knew, and everyone pretended not to.
Only those of us who served close at hand suffered for it, treading on tiptoe lest we bring trouble upon ourselves.
To be fair, Madam was a good person, softhearted and never harsh with the servants.
Yet it was precisely this “goodness” that had turned her life into a pool of muddy water.
Her heart and eyes seemed to hold nothing but Master.
All day, she brooded over affection, over love, over the favor she could no longer keep hold of.
Social obligations, accounts and expenses, the assignment of servants—she could never be bothered to attend to any of them.
Or perhaps her eyes, swollen from soaking in tears, could no longer see such things clearly.
All her strength and cleverness went into fighting the woman kept at the other residence.
And tormenting herself.
Thus this enormous house, splendid on the outside, seemed to have lost its backbone within.
Unseen injustices gradually began to grow.
At first, Master had coaxed her. Now there was only exhaustion and impatience.
His visits to the main courtyard grew noticeably fewer.
Even when he returned, he usually slept alone in his study.
The sharp crash of porcelain hitting the floor came from inside. Madam’s cries rose again.
The door slammed, and Master strode out wrapped in anger.
“Master, it is late. Shall I have some hot water or a sobering soup prepared?”
I asked respectfully, bending slightly at the waist.
Master stopped. Anger still lingered on the half of his face turned toward me.
“I already said…” His words broke off.
He had seen the neck exposed by my slightly open collar as I bowed my head.
Beneath it, a purple lotus showed faintly.
Seven years ago, when a horse bolted, I had thrown myself in front of him. A rock had torn that scar into my skin.
Later, my mother secretly found a craftsman who followed the scar’s contours and shaded it into this lotus.
I ordinarily kept myself covered up tight.
Few people in the household knew of it. Fewer still had seen it.
I raised my eyes. His lingering anger had given way to a frozen stare.
I knew that look.
Before Madam married into the household, he had looked at me that way.
Back then, though, I had been the most capable maid at Old Madam’s side.
I could read and write, understand accounts, and prepare medicinal meals.
More than once, in my presence, Old Madam had told Master when he came to pay his respects:
“Lianyun is a careful girl, and steady. I would feel easy having her in your rooms.”
Even the women who swept the grounds understood that, by Old Madam’s own word, I was already halfway to being a mistress of the house.
In private, the little maids began calling me Miss Yun, half in jest and half in earnest.
Even the way Master looked at me gradually changed.
But all of it stopped abruptly when Old Madam died and Madam took charge of the household.
Madam did not make a grand show of dealing with me. She did not even say a harsh word.
She merely looked at Master with reddened eyes.
“I understand Mother’s intentions, but it truly hurts me. Let Lianyun serve in my rooms. I would feel more at ease.”
Master and Madam were deeply in love then. He nodded without a second thought.
And so, from a prospective concubine, I became a maid again.
My allowance was the best, and my duties the most respectable.
She treated me gently. Sometimes she would even take my hand and say a few intimate words.
I learned what had happened to my parents one afternoon, from the little maids’ gossip.
“Steward Ji and his wife have certainly moved up!”
“Madam is so kind. She has sent them to the West Mountain residence as chief stewards, to enjoy an easy life.”
The little maid’s eyes brimmed with envy.
My hands paused as I perfumed Madam’s clothes.
The West Mountain residence was desolate. Apart from the old gatekeeper, it hardly saw a soul all year.
My father had been one of Old Madam’s trusted stewards.
My mother was a respected nanny in the inner household, one of the servants brought into the family with a bride’s dowry.
They had been Old Madam’s right and left hands, respectable people all their lives.
Now they were to look after a few empty rooms and abandoned vegetable beds?
I could not see them off on the day they left.
Madam had a headache and could not do without someone beside her.
I only dimly heard wheels rolling past the side gate.
A muffled sound, there for a while, and then gone.
Later, my mother sent in a small packet of plums she had pickled herself, the sour kind I had loved since childhood.
The messenger said only, “Your mother says to take good care of yourself.”
That night, I massaged Madam’s legs.
Her eyes closed, she suddenly sighed. “It must be lonely without your parents nearby. Come talk with me more often from now on.”
I kept the pressure of my hands even. “Serving you is my duty, Madam.”
She seemed very pleased with that answer. Afterward, she never tested me with such words again.
